I hate grading math homework. Haaaaate it. Which means that I usually put it off until I have three or four day's worth and finally buckle down and check it in one fell swoop. Which takes forever and makes me vow I'll start having the students check their own, until the next day when we just don't have time to go over it in class. And the cycle continues.
Perhaps I'm a bad teacher. Especially as evidenced by my class's average on the math benchmark test they took today. Nothing like grading failed math tests to make me feel like an awesome teacher.
But I digress.
Every now and then I come across something in a student's math homework that makes me smile. Like the student who showed her work on the back of a piece of paper printed from lds.org. And this multiplication word problem written by one of my students, for instance:
"Mrs. Erickson made cookies. Each batch has 99 cookies. She makes 99 batches. How many cookies did Mrs. Erickson bake in all? Answer: 9,801."
I hope I'm not planning on keeping all those cookies for myself! Also, can you imagine making that many cookies in one sitting? I think I might perish from exhaustion.
Here's a word problem of my own creation:
"Mrs. Erickson has 26 students in her class. She has 7 more math and language arts assignments to grade. Not all of her students have turned in their assignments on time. She also has a smattering of late work she needs to grade. How many assignments does she need to correct, and how long will it take?"
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
They grow up so fast.
When I was hired in September, one of the reasons I was relieved it was fourth grade and not fifth (not that fifth was even an option, but still), was that fifth grade students receive the "maturation" lessons. I thought I dodged a bullet on that one.
I thought wrong.
A few examples:
1. My class went to the library today and sat on the rug so the librarian could read a story to them. When she concluded, she excused the girls to get books, and then she excused the boys. Well, a few of my precious students stayed on the carpet, insisting that they were "men." This is not the first time they have done this. When I told them to get their shelf markers because, yes, they are still boys, one of them related the following to me: "My doctor said I'm going through puberty, so I'm becoming a man."
2. Perhaps the puberty thing shouldn't have been such a surprise, because I do notice a distinct, pungent odor in the classroom after recess or PE when the class has been running around. Would it be distasteful to recommend my students wear deodorant if they notice they have a funky smell emitting from their armpits? Yes? Darn.
3. Some notes passed between two students were brought to my attention today. They detailed, among other inappropriate-pet-names-for-fourth-grade, plans to secretly hold hands in science if they were watching slides and the lights were off. The female suspect in question has also written the story of her love life and all of the boys she has crushes on in the class. (I pinky promise I found this on accident. I wasn't snooping on purpose!)
Heaven help me.
I thought wrong.
A few examples:
1. My class went to the library today and sat on the rug so the librarian could read a story to them. When she concluded, she excused the girls to get books, and then she excused the boys. Well, a few of my precious students stayed on the carpet, insisting that they were "men." This is not the first time they have done this. When I told them to get their shelf markers because, yes, they are still boys, one of them related the following to me: "My doctor said I'm going through puberty, so I'm becoming a man."
2. Perhaps the puberty thing shouldn't have been such a surprise, because I do notice a distinct, pungent odor in the classroom after recess or PE when the class has been running around. Would it be distasteful to recommend my students wear deodorant if they notice they have a funky smell emitting from their armpits? Yes? Darn.
3. Some notes passed between two students were brought to my attention today. They detailed, among other inappropriate-pet-names-for-fourth-grade, plans to secretly hold hands in science if they were watching slides and the lights were off. The female suspect in question has also written the story of her love life and all of the boys she has crushes on in the class. (I pinky promise I found this on accident. I wasn't snooping on purpose!)
Heaven help me.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
I'm going to stare into your soul.
Eighty percent of the work week, I wear knee-high nylons to accompany my footwear. (The other 20 percent of the time is when we get to wear jeans on Friday and thus can wear socks with sneakers.)
Jacob never seems to know what to call these nylons. No, I take that back -- he calls them a variety of names.
For example, "those gross brown things." As in, "eww, take those gross brown things off of the couch - slash - out of my face." (I have no idea why he might have a problem with me leaving them on the couch or floor or anywhere besides my feet or the laundry hamper.)
My latest favorite moniker is "leeches." Over the weekend we did laundry, and Jacob helped put away his clothes. I meandered into the bedroom as he was doing so.
"You have too many leeches!" he accused.
"Leeches?" I queried.
"You had like 80 of them stuck to your pajamas, sucking the soul out of them."
Well, then. Apparently I have soul-sucking hosiery. Who knew?
Jacob never seems to know what to call these nylons. No, I take that back -- he calls them a variety of names.
For example, "those gross brown things." As in, "eww, take those gross brown things off of the couch - slash - out of my face." (I have no idea why he might have a problem with me leaving them on the couch or floor or anywhere besides my feet or the laundry hamper.)
My latest favorite moniker is "leeches." Over the weekend we did laundry, and Jacob helped put away his clothes. I meandered into the bedroom as he was doing so.
"You have too many leeches!" he accused.
"Leeches?" I queried.
"You had like 80 of them stuck to your pajamas, sucking the soul out of them."
Well, then. Apparently I have soul-sucking hosiery. Who knew?
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